Page 78 of Specters & Spotlights

“Only one way to find out,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away, with a smirk timed like a curtain drop.

Elise paused—for just a second too long—watching him go. She snapped herself back to the moment, only to realize Nick was watching her. Intently.

He gave an exaggerated double take between Elise and the door Graham had disappeared through.

“Elise,” he whispered like a scandalized old lady, “were those sparks I saw? Is something brewing? You have to spill. I need the tea.”

“There’s nothing to know,” Elise replied, far too quickly. But her smirk betrayed her.

Nick gasped dramatically, then grinned. “Honestly, I’m just glad to see proof that Graham is a real human being capable of actually flirting. I was starting to think he was a cursed portrait that came to life.”

Elise laughed. “That bad?”

“I’ve never seen him show even a hint of interest in anyone. Man, woman, stagehand, barista, nothing. Just brooding handsomeness and polite distance.”

She tilted her head, thoughtful. “He’s… private. That’s all.”

Nick rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

She didn’t say the rest aloud—but she thought it.

Maybe some people save their real selves for the few who’ll see them fully. Maybe, just maybe, she was getting a glimpse.

And maybe she liked what she saw.

With the show underway and the flurry of pre-curtain chaos behind her, Elise finally slipped into a moment of quiet. She ducked into the hallways that ran behind the backstage area, phone in hand. One new message blinked from Cici.

Cici

We’re still aiming for 11 PM tonight, right?

Elise replied quickly.

Yes, that should be right.

Also—something weird. Someone heard Ellen’s voice earlier… through the whispering wall.

Ever heard of anything like that?

The typing bubbles popped up instantly, and Cici’s responses came in like machine-gun fire.

Cici

What?!

No, that’s not good.

Have you heard Ellen’s voice there?

Have you been near it again??

Elise hesitated, thumbs hovering, before replying.

Only once. Early this week. It wasn’t Ellen.

It was… my name. Repeated. Male voice.

Familiar.